


Curry Rice

by smileodon



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (TV)
Genre: Everybody Lives, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:19:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileodon/pseuds/smileodon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kunzite, reborn, makes dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curry Rice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nikkiscarlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiscarlet/gifts).



In the right mood, Kunzite quite enjoyed cooking. Today the right mood was elusive. It should have been satisfying, reducing the beef to suitably sized pieces, but the knife slid through the meat almost too easily, leaving Kunzite wishing for something- something different.

Or perhaps for everything different.

He was not above realising his own stupidity, or the futile nature of wishing for things that had never been as perfect as he remembered them. Yet, also, he knew that would not stop him from wishing.

The onion was more satisfying, layers giving way together under his knife, waiting to be broken apart, fresh and harsh and catching in his nose and eyes. He let the tears gather, wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 

That was the nature of onions.

What was the nature of man? Worse, what was the nature of them, his brothers, his fellow Generals under Endymion, under Beryl, now under nothing but the weight of the world? Were they simply men now, as he had once imagined? Stupidly, innocently free of memory, assuming the pretense of a man called Shin, forgetting-- everything.

Zoisite seemed a man, now, his hair no longer brilliant white but a striking grey, dyed in a gradient to hang around his face and shoulders, making him look like a dark ghost, more solid than his former self. He had adapted well, wishing only to play his music, and music had brought him everything he needed. The guardian of Venus had made what introductions were required, and Zoisite himself had done the rest.

Nephrite was not a man, not yet. Still a boy, still lost, still angry, but with the bright, defiant anger of boyhood, waiting to burn itself out and leave behind something more sensible. He worked still in the karaoke parlor, when he could, but Zoisite and Mamoru and the princess had put him into cram school beside his fellow.

Jadeite seemed to enjoy studying, in a way unlike Nephrite, unlike any of them. He was not less loyal, but only different, and should have waited before pledging himself. He'd been too willing to serve any master – or mistress – who would give him meaning.

Kunzite knew too well that that sense of meaning was illusory. 

The potatoes he peeled roughly, vindictively. Zoisite would have urged him to use more gentle strokes, to remove only the skin, not to cut so deep into the potatoes themselves. Kunzite frowned, and peeled away more of the flesh with the rind, until he was forced to retrieve another small potato to make up the difference. They came apart cleanly, knife biting deep each time, thunking clear through. It was perversely satisfying. The potatoes went into fresh water to soak, while the carrots met a similar end.

Loyalty to his master, his student, his Prince, should have meant forgiveness. Endymion and Serenity remade the world, remade _them_ , Kunzite and his brothers. Outwardly, he offered it. Out of politeness, out of obedience. Out of exhaustion at being reborn.

If they had not been remade, he would no longer exist to feel this anger.

Kunzite's anger was unlike Nephrite's. He was no longer a boy, his anger was old, tried and tested, the only thing that sustained. He would never forget watching them fall, one by one. Jadeite, too desperate. Nephrite, too hasty. Zoisite, too loyal. Himself. Too weak.

Every aspect of the world seemed double-sided now, bright with promise even as it was empty of purpose. With the prince's power joined to the princess', there was nothing left to fight. 

By the time Kunzite reached the tomato, his calm had returned enough to cut them gently, slicing each to smaller pieces that would dissolve more easily into the whole.

He swept the onion and beef into the pan, breaking apart the little pool of oil and searing the edges of the meat. Stirred it through with the long cooking chopsticks, ensuring none would stick. Potatoes. Carrots. Tomatoes. Water.

He left the pot to simmer, and went to the window, to try to breathe.

The city wasn't the Millenium city, wasn't the splendor of the past Earth, or the Moon. Their little house, with four men, was nothing like as richly decorated as the Negaverse had been, but Kunzite did not miss it. Instead he missed Shin's happiness in the simplicity of going on with life.

The little garden did need a rose bush.

He broke apart the curry roux and stirred it in, until the whole pot darkened and thickened, and the smell rose up warmly against his face.

In the hall, he could hear the front door, and the sound of shoes being exchanged for house slippers. The tread was even, deliberate, and he knew exactly who was home. He added extra chili for spice.

Zoisite stepped into the kitchen a moment later, and Kunzite kept his eyes on the pot. A long, perfect white hand snuck a spoon around his elbow and into the curry.

"You might say welcome home."

Despite himself, Kunzite smiled. "Be useful, and make us some rice. The others will be home soon."

Zoisite's laugh was soft, and private, and tension slipped from Kunzite's body almost without awareness. He stirred, and let Zoisite work around him.

"There is a teacher of kendo, who comes to the shrine where Rei serves. It seems he is looking to work with a partner, to take on more students."

The rice cooker steamed on the counter beside them, and Zoisite's shoulder leaned against Kunzite's for a long moment. Kunzite welcomed it, and with it the feeling of the ground beginning to solidify again under his feet.

"You know," Zoisite added, finally moving away, "Makoto told me a dark chocolate added to the pot will give it greater depth. Mamoru agreed." 

Kunzite dipped his pinky into the sauce, and sucked it, considering. Finally he held out his hand, behind him, and three squares of rich, dark chocolate dropped into his palm, just beginning to melt from Zoisite's fingers. Kunzite put one into his mouth, where his tongue caught and fed on the melted edge. He dropped the other two into the pot, stirring until they vanished entirely.

It wouldn't do to disobey their prince.


End file.
